The Girl Who Outsmarted The Others
by nightlock99
Summary: "My story is not one of romance,sacrifice, or courage.This is simply one of a girl with a will to live.No matter how much you don't want to believe it,not all tributes are noble,heroic or anything.Most of us are just average citizens nothing remarkable about except we have extraordinary bad luck to be chosen for this contest of death. Later tributes however, are a different story"
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games

There are two things in life that are inevitable. Paying taxes and death. Some way or another you will die. Whether by hell fire or high water we all meet our maker.

This is a sad fact of life. Unfortunately as much as we all wish, we don't all live to grow old.

This isn't one of life, or death this is somewhere in between. Strapping between this world and the next. This is why you must get over this one unsavory fact before you read any further. You will die. It's as simple as that.

This, my dear reader is where we begin the story.

Many years ago, fifteen to be exact, a young woman in the white of winter tended to her slowly dying rose garden. Now you must be thinking why would she have roses in a time of war or winter. Roses were reserved for the wealthy weren't they? Roses were such a frivolous thing to spend money on, money that could by bread to feed you.

Anyways the woman was tending the roses and she pricked her finger on a thorn. Three drops of blood fell onto the snow. At that moment the woman wished for a daughter with lips red as blood, skin white as snow, and hair black as night.

The kind woman "got" her wish. Well of course children don't appear out of thin air, so she probably got her act together with her husband because we know that kids just don't pop out of the snow like daisies. Sadly the new mother died in childbirth. Her husband, a man of few words had to raise his little daughter by himself.

The baby girl was named Channery Flynn. As she grew up she learned the hardships of life in District Three. And now reader if you're still with me the story I am telling is about me.

Yes, I am the main character of the story. I am Channery Flynn. This is the story of The Twenty-fifth Hunger Games. This is the story of 23 inevitable deaths.

An:/ If you've read any of my other stories, I will be giving this one a different take. I hope this will have an overall cleaner and better quality. ~Nightlock


	2. Chapter 1

Hatred is one word of my everyday existence in District Three. Since I'm the daughter of the man who owns a bunch of the technological companies and factories I'm considered a stuck up spoiled brat.

Clearly their anger is misguided I tried telling that to a group of older boys when I was 5 that it's not my fault my father is the owner and theirs are the workers. But they spit onto the lovely pink dress I had worn. Rich Girl is a stigma, no a disease that follows me everywhere. Girls whisper behind their hands and boys jostle me in the hallways.

I don't know what I've done to deserve this. They also say my father is a suck up to the Capitol's ass. That's why I wasn't surprised when I was picked for the female tribute of District Three for the 1st Quarter Quell. The tributes were picked about 3 months before The Reaping.

You could say that my father doesn't love me because when the announcement was made he just said 'Ok.' I mean thanks for the support dad. I can't say I don't blame him, I mean I'm the child who killed his dear wife. I don't expect to win. Just to show he doesn't want me dead, well obviously showing that he does, he brought in a trainer from District Two.

The trainer's name was Petra. She was nice and all but, deep down I could tell that she really wanted the tributes from her district to win. She didn't really teach me anything other than to improve on the skills I already had.

I was able to wield a sword a little but I neither had the skill nor the strength of a determined and experienced Career Tribute. The only assets Petra said I had were intelligence, almost a cold, cruel one as a matter of fact, beauty and running. I could outfly them all! But, we not only trained I also watched previous Hunger Games for survival experience. I learned the most tributes that flew from danger eventually died.

But, all that's dead and gone, today I will be Reaped. I have worked, and worked on my angle for a while with Petra. We've decided I will be the mysterious beauty from District Three. I don't know how people who are unsure of their imminent death cope with the possibility of being drawn at the Reaping. But to know you're the female that is drawn, well, that's a whole different ball game.

To make this even more humiliating I will be dressed up and fattened like a pig for slaughter. The Reaping's the worst because even before that, I will have known of my inevitable death for some time before and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Thankfully, I have but two people who will visit me before I'm shipped off to the arena where possibly me and 22 other tributes will meet our untimely ends. All the tributes however are the same; we will all face punishment for what foolish people have done in the past.

I will be nothing but a face when people look upon this day. This very afternoon, which is the definition of brutality. I will be seen as the young beautiful girl sent to a foreign place to die. Kind of like a one of those princess's in fairytales. But I've long not believed in them. Because happily ever after doesn't exist. They will time on and time again, give children false hope that the world is truly good and they won't become a bloody sacrifice.

I fumble with the buttons on my dress. My mind tries to convince my body that I am not afraid of this Reaping. But in reality I Channery, am very much afraid. I brush my raven hair then with trembling fingers begin to French Braid it.

I look into my vanity mirror, that's much to lavish for my taste. It's some kind of marble or porcelain, beautifully carved with pictures of birds and flowers. In the mirror a young girl with large green doe eyes and she looks up. She has full ripe strawberry lips. She however doesn't look like a thing I thought I did.

I slide on a silk dress that is a light pink and has roses softly mixed into the fabric. The dress is by no means revealing, just a loose dress that slightly cinches at the waist. I slide on nude tights and slip on my worn in black ballet flats. And as the final touch I put in my mother's barrette.

The barrette itself is very simple, my mother, a mere technology worker when she met my father. She had wanted to be a fashion designer. She created beautiful things that not even the Capitol had. The barrette was made of left over wires twisted into an intricate pattern, a lily. When she could afford it a small ruby was placed in the center. It opened and a picture of her, my father and me were there right before she died. This is my token.

I don't even bother applying all those heavy creams, powers, and grease sticks other girls in my grade use. There will be plenty of that in the Capitol. For now I want them to know the real me.

The whole of District 3 is a polluted industrial city. There's a dirty body of water that collects runoff from factories, some old people say what was once an ocean. Hardly looks like one. I've been to District 4 before when I was a child, there the water was clear and sparkling.

I pad quietly on the carpet downstairs to the kitchen. I grab a croissant that a maid has set out to cool. I then get an orange. I sit and try to eat. The food sticks to my throat like cement. Sometime in the near future I may die.

But, I won't go down without a fight. I may be an untrained rich girl, but I'm worth more than that. Watch out Capitol and District 3 this girl is going to leave the arena and they will pay for what they've done. I don't have weaponry skills but something better, sharp intelligence.

AN:/ I've been so busy. Anyways I hope you liked it. Drama and suspense will be in here. This is not a romance story, which seems very overdone in OC Hunger games. ~Nightlock


End file.
